


The Fish In Love

by ohcosima



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artist Clarke, Bisexual Raven Reyes, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Infidelity, Inspired by a Movie, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Sad Ending, also clanya is in the past, also there's wicken but it's unrequited, but she doesn't care don't worry, finn kinda flirts with clarke, i hate that jerk and it shows, mostly clarke centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4355078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohcosima/pseuds/ohcosima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m Raven, by the way. Thank you for saving me.”</p><p>“Clarke Griffin, and it was nothing,” she smiles.</p><p>“Oh, it was. I can do just about anything if I put myself to it. Killing any kind of insect, tho…”</p><p>Clarke smiles again, “Yeah? What do you do?”</p><p>“You’ll have to guess.”</p><p>OR</p><p>Famous painter Clarke Griffin runs off to Italy when the pressure of her manager and costumers becomes too much. She’s just looking for peace, and maybe inspiration for her paintings. She doesn’t find them when she stumbles in a charming stranger, but after all she does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fish In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, This is my fist fanfiction ever, I hope it's at least readable, given English is not my first language and that it's not beta'ed! I got the idea for this fic from an Italian film I've seen yesterday (The Fish In Love, it's quite cute). I don't know how, but Clarke and Raven popped in my mind and I decided to go from there and write this. It goes a bit differently than the film, tho. Feedback, advice and kudos are all very appreciated!

Clarke tiredly drops her bag beside her. She takes in the tall building in which she’s about to enter. She may have not thought this through, but she surely chose one hell of a hotel to cry in about it.  
  
Clarke Griffin is not a quitter. She fights for what she wants, she always has. That’s what her father taught her. Her big dream has come to life only thanks to herself and a few of her loved ones. When she had started painting, at fifteen, everybody could see how talented she was, and she had made a mission out of getting in the best art school she could afford and make it amongst the big names of her generation. She didn’t quit when she left her parents’ house with barely the necessary to survive, she didn’t quit when her father died and she and her mother could do nothing but cry. She didn’t quit when everybody told her she was gonna be unemployed for the rest of her life, and that all she could do with an artistic degree was wipe the floor. And she fucking made it. She proved everybody wrong. She had exhibits, she received compliments from her mentors and sources of inspiration, and she received commissions from some celebrities too.  
  
When she thinks about the beginning it makes her want to cry. She remembers times when she just looked at a leaf and pulled worlds out of it. She felt the power of imagination flow though her and direct her hands, her fingers, her paintbrush. Now she feels next to nothing. Painting has become a source of fear, something she _must_ do or everybody will be disappointed. Her manager keeps accepting costumers, people who ask for her to ‘surprise’ them, to show them what she got. But she feels like she doesn’t have anything to offer but bitterness and anxiety. If only she could throw it on the canvas, she would have made do. But she can’t. Her attempts at painting consist of an hour of staring at a blank canvas, paintbrush in hand and head filled with insufferable silence. It used to scream ideas at her; it used to urge her to let them out. At the end, when she can’t take it anymore, she throws the paintbrush away, pours herself some fancy wine, puts on some instrumental music, and gazes outside the window, just like a pretentious asshole. She just needs a pair of glasses and a poetry book in her hand to recite dramatically and the picture is complete.  
  
That’s the only reason she ran. She feels like the ghost of who she used to be, and no amount of people reassuring her would change that.  
  
Besides, she was planning on visiting Italy with her best friend since she started college. She and Octavia hadn’t talked in a while, though. Octavia was in the ballet department of her college, and they met because Clarke’s professor had given her an assignment involving performing arts. So Clarke spent three days stalking the ballet classrooms, hoping to find someone who embodied the concept of the theme she decided to explore. She had seen many clearly wonderful dancers, as ignorant as she was; but when Octavia walked into the room, Clarke immediately felt it in her bones. She started dancing, and she wasn’t as technically precise as some others, but her movements and her expression left her with no doubt. After that, they started hanging out more and more frequently, until they shared their respective friends.  
  
She tried to keep in contact after she moved for her first exhibit, but after the fifth ‘I swear this time I’ll be there!’ Clarke thrown her way whenever the younger girl invited her to one of her recitals, Octavia just stopped asking. And to her own surprise, Clarke didn’t notice if not a lot of time after it happened.  
  
So, here she is. Her phone in her left hand with three messages from her mother and six calls from her manager, her only suitcase in her right. She inhales deeply one last time and she goes in.  
  
As soon as she enters, she feels warmer. She looks around for a few seconds, scanning the nearly empty hall, before making a beeline to the reception desk. She rings the bell on the table, waiting for one of the receptionists to turn around. One of them does after a while, quickly placing a kind smile on. He’s rather young, with long brown hair, and warm eyes. A nametag on his chest reads ‘Finn Collins’. “Good evening, Mrs. How may I help you?”  
  
“Good evening. I’ve booked a room under the name of Clarke Griffin. I should have been here about a hour ago, but the traffic…”  
  
“Don’t worry, just give me a minute.” He nods, with the same kind smile he kept since she approached him. He starts typing in an old computer. “Yes, I see. Your room is the n. 187. Do you need help with your baggage?” he hands her the key in the meanwhile.  
  
“Oh, no, no, I’ve only got this,” she lifts her suitcase for him to see.  
  
“Then the attendant will help you find your room. Monroe!” She nods and turns around, finding a small girl, Monroe, she assumes, already waiting for her.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Nothing at all. And have a nice evening, Mrs.”  
  
She nods, flashing him one last smile before following Monroe towards the elevator.  
  
When they are inside, Clarke tells her the number of her room, which she learns is on the third floor. “Monroe, may I ask you something?”  
  
“Of course, Mrs.”  
  
“Are you from here?”  
  
“Nope, I’m sorry. Almost nobody of the staff is from here. But if you’re asking for someone who knows their way around the city, you can’t go wrong with Sterling. He’ll probably be bringing you breakfast tomorrow morning, so it shouldn’t be a problem for you finding him.”  
  
“Thank you,” she smiles at her.  
  
“Not a problem.”  
  
They are finally arrived on her floor, and Monroe escorts her to her room, waiting until she gets inside before asking her if she needs anything before going away.  
  
As soon as Clarke closes the door behind herself, she drops her luggage on the floor and throws herself on the bed. She inhales in the lily-scented cushion. She almost passes out in that moment, she is so tired. But the last effort she forces herself to make towards the people she’s ran away from is to reassure them she’ll probably be back in a week, just to let them know there’s no need for calling her twenty times a day.  
  
So she writes an e-mail from her phone to her manager, Callie, and she sends two texts to her mother. She feels guilty, selfish and childish. She can almost feel tears surging to her eyes, but she’s able to hold them back.  
  
After that, she lays there a couple of minutes more, but she eventually decides she needs to unpack her suitcase and shower.  
  
That’s how she spends her first day in Italy. She slowly unpacks, then she slowly showers, she slowly prepares for dinner and after she eats she retrieves to her room, where she puts her pajamas on and reads until she gets bored. Then she watches TV, but nothing interesting that she can understand is on; so yet again, she finds herself gazing out the window. New landscape, same old Clarke. Maybe she just wasted money.  
  
~  
  
She spends two days doing exactly nothing. She can’t believe she let herself do something like this in the first place, and that’s one of the reasons she just can’t move.  
  
She falls asleep late, she wakes up late. She stares out the window. She takes long baths. She goes out once, it’s to buy cigarettes. She doesn’t smoke, but maybe she will from now on. She tries smoking one and she chokes, coughing violently. She slowly destroys them, one by one.  
  
~  
  
The morning of the third day she wakes up spectacularly early. She checks her phone and finds a text from Callie, telling her she dismissed some clients and to let her know when she’s going to be back, a call and a text from her mother, saying to take care and that Marcus is sending a kiss.  
  
She’s ripped away from any sad thought possibly forming in her head by a knock at the door. She puts a vest on and opens, letting in a boy with blond hair carrying the breakfast cart.  
  
“Good morning, Mrs. You asked for cherry pie, milk and cornflakes. Is that correct?”  
  
“Yes, thank you. You are Sterling, right?”  
  
“Yes,” he nods a little uncertainly.  
  
“Monroe suggested I ask you if I need recommendations for places to visit.”  
  
“Yes, I can help you.”  
  
“Good. Do you know some good bars or restaurants?”  
  
“Well, there’s a nice restaurant which only serves plates prepared with local products,” he says as he pulls out of his pocket a block notes and writes down the name of a street and an address. “Or, if you have a car, or a bike, you can go a little further to a place where fish is the main specialty. Also, it’s a bit pricier.”  
  
“Thank you, again.” She’s about to dismiss him, when she thinks that she can risk it a little. “Wait, Sterling. Do you know of any… gay bars?”  
  
He nods, seemingly unfazed, “There are a few, but I don’t really know if they are any good. Here, I’ll write down their addresses still,” he writes again in the piece of paper before ripping it off the block notes and giving it to her. “Hope you have a good time,” he smiles kindly.  
  
“I hope, too. Good morning.”  
  
He goes, and she feels a little better than she did yesterday, now that she thinks about it. After she eats, she quickly gets dressed and heads outside with a map in her hands. She knows she will probably get lost, but she has faith she will somehow get back to the hotel.  
  
She takes a lot of photos, because the nature there is quite beautiful. She takes narrow roads that smell like the clothes left drying off the windows, or food someone is preparing and she feels so happy that it’s almost scary. She enters in some shops too, but she doesn’t buy anything. She reaches the sea at some point, so she seats in the sand and inhales deeply. There’s nobody around her because it’s rather chilly, but she has a scarf and a big coat protecting her. She spends almost an entire day just wandering around the streets, but as the sky turns darker she decides it’s time to get back inside and maybe send her mother a photo, just because she can.  
  
While she’s taking the path back, it starts raining heavily and she has to run, clutching the hood of her coat over her head. It doesn’t do much, as her hair gets wet nonetheless, but she doesn’t care that much.  
  
She’s breathless when she enters the hall, and as she rests, hands on her knees, she catches Collins smiling at her from afar. She smiles back and he winks amusedly. She starts laughing because she knows she must be quite ridiculous; she takes her wet coat off and jumps in the elevator just as it is about to close. She feels her heart beating, and she doesn’t notice a kid, an old man and a girl quietly giggling at her, all disheveled hair and heavy breathing.  
  
When she’s back in her room and she’s showering, she feels good, ready for dinner; she had planned on going out, but she’s too tired. She didn’t think she would have stayed outside this long, but she’s really satisfied with how the day went.  
  
At dinner she feels a bit lonely; she sees a young couple, probably just married, laughing carelessly. He makes funny faces at her, and she seems to blush harder every time he does a new one.  
  
She’s not envious, even tho she remembers with longing what it felt like to love and be loved. Her last girlfriend, Anya, had left her for one of her apprentices, Lexa. She had to admit, the girl was beautiful and she seemed to have quite an interesting personality too. Maybe if she got to know her better she would have left Anya for her, too. Even if it wasn’t a serious story, and it had ended at least three years ago, she misses that kind of affection now, facing this display of young love.  
  
When she has finished she goes back to her room, preparing herself for another chapter of _Madame Bovary_ , but as soon as she steps out of the elevator she hears extremely loud music coming from the room right next to hers.  
  
She sighs, and tries ignoring it. She can’t read, nor watch TV, so she just shuts the light and goes to sleep. And she _really_ tries; she closes her eyes, she pulls the covers above her head, but it’s not enough and she’s quickly getting annoyed. So she calls the reception.  
  
“This is the reception, I’m Collins. What can I do for you?”  
  
“Hello, excuse me. I’m calling from room n. 187. I don’t know what’s going on, but my neighbors are blasting music and I don’t want to come off as argumentative, but…”  
  
“Yes, Mrs., we have already received plenty complaints, we’re really sorry. There is a Korean company celebrating their entrance in stock exchange.”  
  
Clarke tries not to huff, “I’m really happy for them. I am, truly. But I also want to sleep at some point—”  
  
“You’re right, absolutely. Let me see what I can do.” There’s a few seconds of silence on the line, “Ok, what I can do is sending you in another room. It’s room n. 340, one of our best suites. Of course I will consider it as a single, given that the inconvenience is on us.”  
  
Clarke rubs her eyes tiredly, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”  
  
“It’s my pleasure. I’m coming to get you and I will escort you to your new room.”  
  
~  
  
Raven Reyes is a woman of many traits. She can be a lot of things, really. She’s so multifaceted she sometimes contradicts herself. One thing she lacks, tho. And it’s patience.  
  
She didn’t want to come here in the first place. But her husband just had to spend a fortune, even when she reassured him multiple times that a B &B could do, amazingly so.  
  
Now she’s here. Apparently Koreans are partying over her head, so she’s waiting for the receptionist to pick up the phone and hell is about to break loose.  
  
Finally, after three rings, they pick up. “This is the reception and I’m Miller. How can I—”  
  
“It’s room n. 104.” She blurts out, “I know it’s probably midnight or something, but I’m about to murder someone. I don’t know if you catched it, but there is a bunch of really nicely dressed people re-enacting the Apocalypse above my head. Would you mind doing something about it?”  
  
She knows she is borderline rude, but really, what were they expecting? “We are aware; you’re not the first complaining. We are sorry. Let me see if I can switch you to… we only have one free suite. It’s n. 340. Are you comfortable with—”  
  
“Yes, of course.” She just can’t wait to rejoice in glorious silence.  
  
“Ok, then. I’m coming upstairs to accompany you to your new suite. Sorry again for the trouble.”  
  
She hangs up and waits.  
  
~  
  
Clarke clutches the handle of her suitcase as Collins guides her. “There we are.” He says, stopping in front of a big carved door, “As you can see,” Collins says as he opens it and gestures her inside, “there is a—”  
  
“Collins.” His talking is interrupted by a firm voice.  
  
Collins whips his head around, addressing the other receptionist, “Miller.”  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I… the Koreans are right next to her room,”  
  
“Well, they are above hers.”  
  
Until that moment, Clarke had concentrated on Collins and his exchange with Miller, only now noticing another person trailing behind Miller. She’s a petite woman, slightly taller than Clarke, with dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. She has a raised eyebrow, and her gaze is fixated on Clarke. Clarke, who feels so scrutinized and under pressure that she feels the physical urge to say something.  
  
“Nevermind, she can keep it. I’ll go back to my room.” Clarke is ready to go back, promptly turning on her heels.  
  
“No, you keep it. I can manage.” She replies with a monotonous voice. She seems slightly annoyed, and Clarke knows she’s staring. The girl isn’t sparing her another glance, probably resigned to the idea that she will have to spend the night listening to upbeat Korean hits.  
  
“No, there’s no problem. The suite has two rooms and two bathrooms. The only thing they share is the corridor.” Collins says. Clarke considers it. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything at the moment.  
  
“If you don’t mind it.” The girl shrugs.  
  
“Not a problem. At all.”  
  
“Then we’re settled.” Miller concludes, “Have a good night’s sleep, and sorry again for the trouble.”  
  
“Thank you,” Clarke smiles at them both, appreciating their mindfulness. The girl just grunts an ‘okay’, or at least Clarke thinks.  
  
The girl quickly goes for the left room, without even whishing Clarke goodnight or introducing herself.  
  
Clarke wouldn’t have minded putting a name to that face. Anyway, Clarke does the same. She falls asleep within fifteen minutes.  
  
~  
  
As they close the door behind the girls, Miller turns to Collins, “Fuckface.”  
  
At the same time, Collins says “Asshat.”  
  
~  
  
The next day, Clarke wakes up late. She skips breakfast, showers and goes outside, thinking of a repeat of the day before. Only, today she eats out; she goes in that place Sterling told her about, the one where the food is made with local products. She orders something simple, spaghetti with tomato sauce, and she nearly faints when she takes the first bite and she can feel everything deliciously melt in her mouth. She profusely compliments the cook, an old lady with the kindest eyes she has ever seen. When she comes back to the hotel later, she spots Sterling carrying the cart near her new room and thanks him again.  
  
She actually comes back earlier than she had the day before because tonight she’s determined to dance like her life depends on it. She doesn’t know how she feels, not yet, but she’s only on her third day and she already feels better than when she arrived. Maybe it’s that she hasn’t had to interact with people so much, or maybe it’s because the place is really beautiful and full of surprises. She doesn’t know. But she likes it.  
  
She tries to sleep a little before heading out, so she dresses up and lies on the bed, slowly drifting to sleep.  
  
~  
  
Raven has seen strange people, but no one has been stranger than the chick sharing the suite with her, up until now.  
  
She has shortly seen her once before, when she probably had just arrived; she hopped in the elevator almost risking being cut in a half by the doors, soaked from head to toe, make-up slightly smeared down her cheeks: clearly a victim of the downpour. Raven had observed her, slightly amused, not because she found funny she was drenched, but because, and she didn’t know if the girl realized, she had the biggest grin on her face. Like she had been trying to save herself, her heavy breathing a sign of having been running, but quite enjoyed having failed.  
  
So Raven found her funny. But now she finds her straight up strange. The girl goes out in the morning and returns to her room just to head back out again after half an hour tops. She stops the breakfast dude to thank him God only knows for what (and Raven heard it because she literally _proclaimed_ it) and now here she is. Sleeping with a fancy dress on. And ok, Raven knows because she’s staring at her right now.  
  
She has been for a while, to be quite honest, and it probably seems stalkerish and weird, but she’s sleeping anyway. She’ll never know. Raven has not stopped to look at her properly before, also because the other night she was ready to murder anybody who interfered with her plan. But now she sees. Cute nose, thin lips, blond locks. The girl is cute. Now she’d like to give a name to the cuteness, but snooping around while the girl is sleeping right there is not the best option. So she decides to do something both mean and good.  
  
“OH MY _GOD_ , A COCKROACH!”  
  
The girl doesn’t jump up at first, slowly opening her eyes and getting up on her elbows. “Where?” she asks, her voice rough from the sleep.  
  
“It’s in my room! Please, kill it,” Raven does her best impression of a princess in distress, concluding it works when the girl eventually jumps to her feet and grabs a flip-flop.  
  
She spends ten minutes scanning Raven’s room floor, obviously with no result.  
  
“It must have gotten out of here. Or it crawled down the sink.” The blonde states.  
  
Raven shivers at the mental image. Cockroaches are quite disgusting, after all. “All that matters is that it’s no longer in here.”  
  
The girl nods, apprehensive. “I’m Raven, by the way. Thank you for saving me.”  
  
“Clarke Griffin, and it was nothing,” she smiles.  
  
“Oh, it was. I can do just about anything if I put myself to it. Killing any kind of insect, tho…”  
  
Clarke smiles again, “Yeah? What do you do?”  
  
“You’ll have to guess.” Raven smirks, sitting on her bed, “I’ll give you a clue: it’s something strange.”  
  
She sees Clarke’s eyes light up with amusement. “Mh, okay. You… are the fire-eater in a circus.”  
  
“Nope,” Raven beams. Clarke leans on her closet with a pensive expression.  
  
“You teach salmons to go upstream.”  
  
“Not even close.” Raven laughs.  
  
“You grow Christmas trees.”  
  
“I’m not even Catholic.” She shakes her head.  
  
“Mh. This is gonna take me all night, isn’t it?” They laugh at their own silliness.  
  
“We should go out and so something.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“Let’s change people’s breakfast orders.”  
  
Clarke stares at her, eyes wide, mouth spread in an incredulous smile. “Let’s do it.”  
  
That’s how they find themselves running through the corridors at 1 am. Clarke laughs like she’s six years old and she doesn’t think about it.  
  
~  
  
“This says: bacon, eggs, cheese, coffee, apple pie, waffles, and tea. For two. They are gonna explode.”  
  
“Ok. Put: white wine, mushroom pizza, wasabi and... Cabbage.” Raven bursts out laughing, and Clarke does her best to not let her notice how much she’s rapt by it. She writes down what she’s told, while Raven has the next one already in her hand. “For one; tea, toasts, strawberry marmalade.”  
  
“Let’s make them leave a little. Put roast beef, orange juice, chocolate cake and—”  
  
“Cabbage!” Raven laughs as she writes it all down.  
  
“What, it’s like your signature?” Clark asks smiling.  
  
“You betcha.”  
  
“So you are the Mother Fairy of Cabbages, then,”  
  
“Damn, you got me. Here, I know these two. They are newlyweds from France. Let’s surprise them.”  
  
The quietly knock, and when they open the door Clarke recognizes the couple she saw at dinner. As Raven had instructed before, they start singing the French national anthem, while the couple laughs and shares little pecks on their mouths.  
  
~  
  
As they go on, they reach Clarke’s previous room, and they hear music still blasting from the Koreans’ room.  
  
“I’ve got an idea. Wait for me here.” Raven nods and watches as Clarke knocks at their door. When they open Clarke cheerfully yells, “You made it!”  
  
Everybody yells back, raising their champagne filled glasses. She goes inside, and starts randomly yelling, “You made it!” and earning herself many raised glasses. She grabs two, going on with her charade. She sneaks out shortly after, unnoticed by everyone.  
  
Raven is still waiting for her, leaning against the wall. When she sees her coming with two glasses of champagnes, she raises a hand to her mouth, completely shocked.  
  
“You stole their booze!”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.” Clarke confirms, smug smirk plastered on. They sit on the floor against the wall, one in front of the other.  
  
“You are amazing,” Raven says, and she means to say it with lightness, but it almost comes off as fond. She clears her throat, “But you still haven’t found out what is it that I do.”  
  
“Well, neither have you,” Clarke raises her eyebrow as in challenge.  
  
“You’re easy. You probably do something artsy.”  
  
Clarke is taken aback, not knowing how Raven managed to get so near, “How do you know?”  
  
“Relax, I can’t read minds yet. I saw you have a lot of books about artists sprawled on the floor of your room.”  
  
“Oh,” Clarke realizes she must have seen them when she came for help earlier. “Right. I’m not the tidiest person. You’re right tho, I’m a painter.” She giggles.  
  
“Did you paint anything I could know?”  
  
“Well, I’m not sure I’m famous outside the US.”  
  
“I _am_ from the US.”  
  
“Oh, that’s great. Maybe you could have heard about the painting I made for that singer. She’s in a girl band; I believe her name is Fox?”  
  
“Fox from The Delinquents?” Raven’s eyes widen.  
  
“Yeah, that one. She liked it very much. It was abstract, with a lot of red and white.”  
  
“I definitely could have heard of it.”  
  
“Good, so that’s me.” Clarke nods.  
  
“So what are you doing here?”  
  
Clarke would rather not talk about this, but she doesn’t know why she does. “I ran.”  
  
Raven tilts her head, “You ran?”  
  
“I— I couldn’t take it anymore. I have a big project going on and the pressure was too much.”  
  
“I understand. It’s better taking a break than failing completely, if it’s something you really like. Besides, you seem like the type that can rebuild herself whenever, if she really wants it. I mean, destruction is creation, right?”  
  
Clarke doesn’t know if she does understand or if she’s saying this just for making her feel better, but it kind of does anyway. She nods, not meeting Raven’s eyes. The air is a bit heavier now, so Clarke tries to lighten it up. “It’s your turn now.”  
  
Raven smirks slightly, “You still have to guess.”  
  
“Eh, I’m shit at this game.” Clarke laughs, but she can see Raven eyeing her differently. She’s playing by her rules for now, and Clarke hopes she won’t try and come back on the matter again.  
  
“Come on, if you guess right there’s a prize for you.”  
  
“And what is it?”  
  
“You have to guess first.” Raven insists. Clarke feels something stir in her lower stomach at the implications.  
  
“But what if it’s something I don’t want? You have to—”  
  
“Guess.” Raven orders, tone firm and gaze unwavering. She looks straight in Clarke’s eyes and she makes her throat dry.  
  
“Okay.” Clarke nearly whispers. “So you said it’s something strange. Can’t you give me another clue?”  
  
“You can ask me one question.”  
  
“Okay. Does it have to do with people or animals?”  
  
“What kind of question is that? People, anyway.”  
  
“Okay. You’re right, it hasn’t helped at all.” Clarke laughs, “You dress up as Santa— ah, right you’re not catholic. You blow stuff up?”  
  
“Well, I like making things go boom, but that’s not the case, unfortunately.”  
  
“So it doesn’t have to do with fireworks. What a shame.”  
  
“Actually, I’ve got my degree in Mechanical Engineering, with second degree in Chemistry.” Raven says it casually, but Clarke is stunned. So, not only the girl is beautiful and funny, but she has got one hell of a brain.  
  
“Wow, that’s impressive. One day I’ll be hearing of Engineer Raven…” Clarke stops, realizing she doesn’t know her surname.  
  
Raven quickly supplies, “Reyes. But it’s not gonna happen. I failed my Zero-G exam. Well, I aced the theory part. I failed the physical. Heart murmur.”  
  
Clarke doesn’t know what to say, so she sticks to the usual. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Not like it was your fault. Besides, I’m doing other things now.” She probably means to come off as nonchalant about it, but her voice is tight. “Come on, guess!” she whines impatiently, quickly turning her blank expression into a cheerful smile. It’s forced and Clarke notices.  
  
“You read the future.”  
  
“Oh, I wish. But nope.”  
  
“Enough, I surrender.”  
  
“Oh my God. You’re a wimp.”  
  
“It’s too haaard.”  
  
“Again, you’re a wimp.” Raven states calmly, shaking her head with a small smile. “Let’s get to our suite, I’m tired.” Raven says.  
  
When they part, Clarke keeps thinking about her, she can’t help it. This girl has something in her that Clarke quite can’t put her finger on. It could be the way she looks around her, as if she already understands everything. Her laugh brings freshness. Maybe it is her recklessness. Or her body, how she moves. She is magnetic.  
  
She suddenly remembers she was supposed to go out tonight. But she doesn’t regret anything, not even a bit. She’s suddenly startled by a knock on her door. “Clarke, it’s me.”  
  
Of course it’s her, who could it be? Switching on the light she says, “Come inside, it’s not locked.”  
  
Raven comes inside her room, and carefully closes the door behind her. “What is it?”  
  
“You gotta compensate.”  
  
“What?” Clarke asks confused.  
  
“You didn’t guess. So you gotta make up for it.” Clarke stops breathing for what feels like an eternity.  
  
“H-how?” It almost goes unheard. Clarke’s heart starts beating a little faster.  
  
Raven has a determined expression, one that makes Clarke’s skin crawl with want and fear and lust.  
  
“Like this.” And with that, Raven marches up to her, roughly grabs her face, and kisses her.  
  
Clarke is burning up, her hands reach to touch every part of Raven they can. The other girl’s tongue skillfully swipes over hers, so deliciously Clarke’s brain shuts out everything else. There’s only Raven’s tongue on hers. She doesn’t even register it when Raven climbs onto her and starts undressing herself. She throws away her covers and she starts touching her everywhere. Clarke can’t take it anymore, and she tries switching their position so she’s on top. She manages for a few seconds, but then Raven switches them again, holding her down with a force Clarke wouldn’t have ever guessed she had.  
  
Raven’s pupils are dilated, just as Clarke’s must be. She sees it just now, Raven’s eyes fixated on hers, hungry and wild.  
  
Clarke breathes heavily and lets Raven do whatever she wants to her.  
  
~  
  
When Raven wakes up in Clarke’s room, Clarke is not there. She doesn’t panic at first, thinking she must have gone to the bathroom. But as she lies there, staring at the ceiling, the room is too silent. She sits up, scanning the room. It’s devoid of Clarke’s things. She feels a little played, but she can’t really be the one to speak.

She looks for her jeans, the ones in which she keeps her engagement ring. But on the sofa she finds a letter from Clarke.  
  
  
“Dear Raven,  
  
I’m sorry you’re not gonna find me this morning. I understood things and I’ve got to take care of them. It doesn’t feel like a final goodbye, to me. Does it, to you? Also, I’ve understood what you do. You are a princess from a fairy tale. One that kisses frog princesses, turns them human and makes them believe in things they didn’t believe in before. And you also give said princesses new spurs of creativity. I’m not too good with words, tho. Sorry again for leaving you there.  
  
Take care, Clarke Griffin  
  
P.s. if you’re wondering: yes, I’m the frog princess.”  
  
~  
  
Kyle arrives later than intended, but Raven will never know. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be here for another four days at least. But he just couldn’t leave her here, alone and bored. So he decided to surprise her. As he waits at the reception for his soon-to-be wife to come down, the receptionist answers a phone call.  
  
~  
  
Clarke is in the passenger seat of Callie’s car. “I’m glad you came to yourself, Clarke. Everybody was so worried. Don’t you ever leave me like that; I had to make up the strangest excuses. I haven’t lied so much since… I don’t even want to know.”  
  
Clarke listens impassively, “Can we pull over there? I’ve got to pee.”  
  
“Sure. Wait for me in the car when you’re done. I’m gonna buy some magazines.”  
  
“Can you give me the hotel number?”  
  
“You want to excuse yourself for the early leave?”  
  
“Yup,”  
  
“Good thinking. Here, take.” Callie hands her agenda and immediately makes her way into the station’s bar. Clarke gets out of the car and pulls out her phone.  
  
“Hello, this is the reception of _Il Pesce Innamorato_ Hotel. What can I do for you?”  
  
“Hi, I’m Clarke Griffin,”  
  
“Mrs.! Is everything ok? We already checked the room for eventual—”  
  
“Yes, I know, don’t worry. I was wondering, can you pass me on to room n. 340?”  
  
“Room n. 340?” he asks carefully.  
  
“Only if you can,” she specifies. But as she says this, she hears a voice from the other end of the line.  
  
She can only grasp the worlds ‘my wife’ and ‘I’ll take it’.  
  
Then Collins says, “Sure. Here, sir,”  
  
“Who is this?” an overly cheerful voice answers her.  
  
“This?” Clarke freezes, unable to say anything, “Is Mrs. Reyes not there?”  
  
“I’m her husband.” He says, “Well, soon-to-be husband, but you can tell me,” he chuckles.  
  
“I…”  
  
“Are you Jordan?”  
  
“Jordan?”  
  
“Yes, Jordan. For that business we discussed. Are you giving us confirmation?”  
  
Clarke panics. She doesn’t know who she’s talking to, she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. “Yes, yes. I’m giving confirmation,” she swallows.  
  
“Amazing! I’ll tell Raven as soon as she gets here! Thank you, Mrs. Jordan,”  
  
“Not a problem. At all.” And with that, she hangs up, utterly confused and slightly disappointed.  
  
~  
  
When Raven jogs down the stairs, she sees at the reception the last person she expected to see.  
  
“Wick?”  
  
“Love, I think you are allowed to call me Kyle, by now.” He replies when he turns to greet her, a soft smile on his lips. “How are you?”  
  
“I’m fine, thank you. What are you doing here?”  
  
“Yes, I'm fine too, don't worry. _Anyway_. I know you hate it here, don’t try denying it. Your knight in shining armor is here to rescue you!”  
  
“Oh,” she smiles weakly, doing her best to stop a grimace from stretching on her face.  
  
“Also, I’m bringing good news: Jordan just called and gave us confirmation about that business!”  
  
She frowns, “But he called me earlier and he said he can’t take the job…”  
  
“She must have changed her mind, what do I know,” he shrugs, still smiling at her.  
  
“She?”  
  
“Yes, Mrs. Jordan, I assume,” and Raven realizes immediately. She manages to not let the disappointment show on her face. If only she had arrived earlier…  
  
“To be honest, I wanted to arrive last night, you know,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and she feels like throwing up. “But the traffic is just… let’s discuss this in front of a good cup of coffee, shall we?”  
  
He smiles at her and she sighs, hopefully not too loud, “Yeah, let’s go.”  
  
He bends down a little and kisses her on the cheek, “I missed you. Did you miss me?”  
  
“Of course,” she replies trying to muster up all the sweetness she can.  
  
“I love you,” he finally says, before throwing his arm around her shoulders. Raven feels like she got punched in the guts repeatedly.  
  
“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me at lovelyclizzy.tumblr.com


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